


Alan Wilder's video tour

by bipalium



Category: Depeche Mode
Genre: Diary/Journal, M/M, Reflection, Romance, poetry in prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipalium/pseuds/bipalium
Summary: A fleeting moment passes, present becomes past. Old memories grasped didn't mean to last.





	Alan Wilder's video tour

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Alan's videos from this gifset: https://world---in---my---eyes.tumblr.com/post/177799480740/andrew-fletcher-filmed-by-alan-wilder-1980s

 

 

In someone else's eyes you might look different. Unhidden to the lens of the camera; disclosed. Stripped. Vulnerable. The shield of your own eyelids that protects you from the vision I have of you is crashed.

 

You see what I see? When night falls and you stand there, under the milky light – artificial, magical gauze. You smile – coyly, tired.

 

Every time you notice I’m filming you, you try to keep up appearances. Buoyant, making everything a joke to conceal what’s tearing you apart. The very fact you’re being torn apart. But my camera sees it all. There is no escape from the watchful eye.

 

The focus is lost because you’re standing too close. Way too close, closer than we could ever afford. But I, too, have my own shield. And I’m praising its transparency of a one-way mirror that shows me another side of you: quiet on the surface, earnest; and that look you’re giving not me but the camera is nearly intimate. You know I don’t know your secrets, but I know _of_ them.

 

Sometimes you pretend you don’t see me, or don’t care I’m filming you. You’re dreaming, watching the sunset spilling over the vast of water, and those shimmery rays dance in circles on every glass surface. They shine differently on your skin – warmer, softer, with tenderness of a mother kissing her son good-night.

 

There are many days, many faces, and the world turns, another morning comes. It’s like any other one, and for a brief moment you glance back at me, making sure if I’m still aiming at you – I am. You’ve checked, everything’s all right with the world. The bus is moving, the sun is rising at the East, inflaming the ginger in your hair. You are a part of this giant world, just a small one. But not in my eyes.

 

_A. W._

 

 


End file.
